


He said: "I am not of the slaves that perish."

by EnricoDandolo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Slavery, Snippets, Tevinter Imperium, prologues for Dragon Age 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 16:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnricoDandolo/pseuds/EnricoDandolo
Summary: Four snippets of race-specific prologues for Dragon Age 4, set in Tevinter. Originally written in 2015, when dinosaurs walked the earth and we thought Inquisition had been a good game.





	He said: "I am not of the slaves that perish."

“There is always a choice,” the old tamassran said, hunched in the shadows of her hovel. “Even a slave may choose. For ‘existence is a choice,’ child.” She reached into one of the many pockets lining her many-coloured rags and laid a small, soft pouch in the girl's hand. “There will come a time when it is too much to bear, and you can see no way to fulfil the demand of the Qun without causing harm to your brethren. When that time comes—take this.” But the girl did not understand her meaning. 

* * *

 

“Restrain him,” she commanded as the elf at her feet struggled against the iron grip of her guards. Ultimately, resistance was futile. “You know your crime, slave?”—“... no, mistress.” For an instant, a smirk played around her blackened lips. She had hoped for that answer. “Disobedience. Insolence. Sedition ...” With feigned regret, she shook her head. She loved this part. “And here I've been so good to you. Taught you how to keep your magic under control, gave you food and shelter ... but I fear you simply do not appreciate everything I've done for you.” Gathering her skirts, she turned on her heel. “Make sure he and his fellows know the price of disobedience,” she said in leaving. “If he survives, have him possessed.”

* * *

As long as she could remember, her father had counted the days. He was good at counting, everyone knew that, even for one who had once been a merchant of Kal Sharok. It was what set them apart from the master's other servants. Nine years and 320 days. Nine years and 319 days. “What are you counting, father?” she had asked him one night, when he was setting the master's household accounts and she was playing with her rag doll at his feet. “The number of days until I can take you to see your ancestors’ home within the Stone, when our period of service comes to an end.” At that moment, the little dwarf girl had taken her father's hand. “I’ll help you keep count, then.” By now, she was counting in the negative, and her father's count had ended. 

* * *

There was a magister amongst his regulars—at least that was what he claimed to be. “One day, I'll buy and free you,” he always said after he'd had his way with him, as if that was supposed to be reassuring. “Maker, but you're beautiful. However does a man like you end up in a place like this?” He'd known the magister long enough to know he did not want an answer to that question. Sometimes, he dreamt he’d make good on his promise, make him a free man. Maybe he'd open a small shop in the souq, or apprentice himself to an honest artisan who wouldn’t mind leaving his workshop to a liberatus. Maybe he’d join a mercenary band. One thing was certain: once he was free, he would amount to more than a magister's painted whore.


End file.
